Dream Journal

Chaos Ghost Derby

A railroad encircles the edge of Sacramento river delta vineyards. Slow journey. I’m a kid, and it’s a parallel journey to my flight back home after a living abroad — flying across the entire continental USA and landing somewhere in Oregon. My parent says we’re going home, to the pine state, but I check my weekly predictions and foresee several saddle & ranch-themed places and events… dusty winds from the East.

I’m a ghost, a spirit, and I’m called to enact the Destruction Derby. A motorboat near the scenic park-side boardwalk splits in existential mitosis, splitting again into four motorboats, panicking at my invisible intensity. Other boats flee into the sides of houses trying to escape my wake. After the chaos, while clothed in humanness, I witness buses driving around torn in half, motorcycles needing to be un-embedded from the street. There’s great disorder and possible loss of life, but I only do it once in awhile and I’m not me when I do it, anyway. And I’m never mean. In fact, I’m fair.

Afterwards, Betty and many other girls are being evacuated, marched out in formation. In semi-ghost form I squeeze butts & hips. New girl with them is like “and… you randomly just sometimes have a ghost feel you up after this stuff happens? HUH.”

Dream Journal

Fan Dads! at The Old Western Zoo

Fan Dads!Somewhere on vacation with Lynae, a specialty zoo with a quirky-healthy-family vibe, uniquely Mormon/Utah. We decide to go back a second day — something we’ve never done before. Get there late in the afternoon, so late I wonder if it’s still worth it. Paying admission is a long chore… exchanging coins for a donation slot, Lynae finally making change herself from the cash register, leaving notes on slips of paper for the individual drawers. There are some obvious indications of a seedy underbelly: repeated graffiti pieces and tags on the Old West log cabin facade (a consequence of being so far out on a country road), a hollowed-out warehouse across the street, where local teenagers congregate. I witness a bizarre and memorable instance of albino giraffes galloping through a dilapidated Fort Ord-like building of broken glass, rusty support columns, and families with young children.

We climb aboard a personal paddleboat-steamer-themed mini train and go through a set of swinging saloon doors. I immediately spot a few large folding knives in a water feature. I retrieve one (hey, free knives!) and it’s comically huge, the size of a sword, branded as ‘Bowie’ — not a Bowie knife, though. Turns out people have a habit of discarding their knives in this particular ride after they stab someone. Like I said: seedy underbelly.

I make my way out of the visitor areas of the park and access a back room with rows of rickety shelves, like a rural garden nursery, stacked with curious merchandise. They’re aging avocado water here for instance. Here I find what is certainly a unique marketing demographic: Fan Dads! That is, men of a certain age who enjoy working with all manner of circulation systems, professionally or as a hobby, who nurture a passion for controlling flow of hot/cold, water/air/oil, or rotational propulsion! I see a beautiful silhouette of myself testing one of these boy-toys, plumes of air or water billowing from my face. Of course I manage to tip over a weathered old shelf and just catch it before disaster strikes. Gah, the maintenance with this place! To be fair, I wasn’t supposed to be there.

I don’t know why I find Fan Dads inordinately hilarious, but… Fan Dads! I’ve been saying it in my head for like 2 hours. Fan Dads!

Dream Journal

Sleeping in the Truck, Portland Parking Lot

Doing deliveries, there’s an accident involving a moving truck at an intersection, and the motorcyclist rides off angrily. I know the bike (Nissan) and ride off after them, coming across the abandoned bike near a low wall of a building owned by Chicken. In the semi-underground room, I start working, even though I know Chicken could be pissed. Eventually he shows up and yells at someone (Jimmy?) wanting me gone; we never even make eye contact.

Waiting in a line for older veterans, slowly climbing the staircase of something like a child’s playhouse to hand over our books, I’m given a cut in line when an older black guy (looks like professor in Man From Earth) stops on staircase. A friendly girl takes mine but is visibly confused, having never seen one like it before. The playhouse is on a train and I walk behind it as it slowly edges into a siding.

Mickey dead? Replaced with a toy crying baby in coffin, we’re unsure what his wishes were to present this to his family. It’s an Old West context, stagecoaches and cowboy hats.

Huge wild flock of cat-penguin-monkeys outside a monastery can be approached, even picked up, because the elder cat-penguin-monkeys will take their cues from the monks also watching nearby.

Josh cancels his wedding the day before, I’m sad and don’t know how to engage him so I ask ”laundry day?” when I run into him on a corner of Mission Street. It’s laundry day, I guess.

Lynae has a problem where she’s been panhandling then using the change to buy goose eggs to sell, but she keeps getting the occasional fertilized one and it upsets her and others.